


Casualties of War

by starksborn



Series: Quilson Zombie AU [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksborn/pseuds/starksborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade hasn't always been wandering around the countryside alone. When the infection hit, he had his partner as backup. Until the dead claimed him for their own, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casualties of War

Slade notices something is off when he turns around and realizes Bill isn't right behind him. That never happens in their relationship, in all the years they've been partners he's never turned around and not made eye contact with his friend. Especially not in a situation like this when they're out in the field in dangerous territory. They just don't fall out of sync with each other. 

A nauseated feeling settles deep in Slade's gut as he backtracks to find Bill leaning against a parked car. He's doubled over the hood a little, looking down at his arm. Slade comes up behind him and he knows, somehow, what's happened before he even sees the bite mark and the blood. Before Bill even turns around and Slade can notice the dark veins throbbing in his neck and how bloodshot his eyes are. 

He hisses out a stream of curses before he can stop them, and Bill just does his best to crack a cheeky smirk. 

"Well this is unexpected, eh?" he asks. He leans his back against the grille of the car, holding his hand to his forearm as if it's going to help. Like he can stave off what's coming by squeezing his arm until his knuckles are white. 

"I thought we had one rule here, Billy," Slade says. He's trying to stay calm, to sound at the least like he's not blaming Bill. The last thing he wants is for this situation to end any worse than it's already going to. "What was the one rule? Don't keep it hidden if you've been bit."

"I was going to tell you, really I was," Bill says. "I just thought I had more time."

"God damn it, there's never more time!" Slade snaps. "We of all people should know that."

"We're still only human, Slade." Bill tries to muster a smile, but with his tired eyes and the inky veins slowly creeping farther up his neck, the gesture is all but lost. "I think it's a human thing to assume we're always going to have more time." 

"Oh save me your philosophical bullshit right now." 

Bill closes his eyes, leaning more heavily against the car and tilting his head up to the sky. At least it's a pretty day to die, if you can ignore the distant moans of zombies and the smell of rotting flesh. 

"I suppose there are worse ways to go," he says, opening his eyes again. "Although I had always been hoping for somewhere by the beach and unfortunate incident involving too much tequila and a couple of models." 

"Jesus man, do you really want to end this knowing your last act was annoying the shit out of me?" Slade's not sure how he's able to keep his tone so light, or how he isn't losing his mind right now watching his best friend waste away to the virus running rampant in his system. Later on he'll have time to think about this, plenty of lonely nights by a fire replaying what's to come over and over in his mind. He'll spend a lot of time thinking about how Bill was just fine mere hours ago, and wondering how this disease can claim people so fast. He'll have a lot of time to be angry later, too. 

This isn't how this is supposed to happen. Slade Wilson and Bill Wintergreen, top of the line ASIS operatives. If anything they were supposed to casually sail through the zombie uprising while making flawless head shots and leading some sort of band of survivors to safety. Neither one of them are supposed to go out like this, with a whimper instead of a bang, leaning against an abandoned car at the side of the road and slowly losing the ability to stand upright. 

"Well," Bill says. "I figure if I'm doing to die I should do it as I lived, and since we've got neither tequila or models on hand I'm left with annoying you unfortunately."

"Bill..." Words escape him, and there's a silence that falls between them. Bill looks back up at the sky as a breeze kicks up, watching the clouds roll by overhead. Slade's eyes never leave his face while his brain tries to come up with every possible thread of denial possible. This can't be happening it just can't. It's bad enough his family is on the other side of the world going through who knows what, but now he has to watch Bill waste away before turning? 

Who the fuck decides this shit?! 

"Here, take this." 

Bill's voice snaps Slade out of his thoughts and he blinks a few times, bringing himself back into reality. Bill's holding his gunbelt out with his good arm. His pistol, spare mags, a solitary grenade and his knife are hanging from it. 

"Guns and ammunition are going to be hard to come by sooner than later," he says. He pauses for a moment and adds, "especially with your aim."

Slade scoffs and takes the belt, looping it over one shoulder as Bill speaks again. 

"Of course you know you're doomed now, right?" 

"What makes you say that?" Slade asks. 

"How do you expect to last out here without me to babysit you?" He's still attempting to grin at his own jokes, but the effort seems to be taxing him more than it should be. The loss of finer motor functions is a sign of the infection advancing, that much Slade knows from all the scientists bustling around the CDC in recent weeks.

He can't help but wonder what would have happened if he and Bill had refused their orders; to come overseas to the States with an entourage of scientists all working together to try and stop this super zombie virus before it got started. They were only supposed to be security, help keep a lid on things and make sure no one tired to murder the smart people in lab coats. Sure, they probably couldn't have really said no, but knowing what was likely to happen as a result of this virus, what could ASIS have done? Discharged them? Sent them home to their families? 

It seemed like a terrifying idea at the time, their jobs were almost more important than their civilian lives, but now it just seems silly that they'd never even considered saying no. 

A good soldier never questions orders, and if there was one thing that could be said about them both it's that they are in fact, good soldiers. Maybe not good husbands or fathers, but good soldiers. 

Perhaps that's why they always clung to their titles so fiercely. 

"Don't worry about me," Slade says. "I'll be fine." 

"I'm serious," Bill says. "You can't do this alone, not in this situation and your penchant for solitude is going to get you killed. You find someone willing to help you and put up with your cranky ass you damn well take them up on their offer, you hear me?" 

Slade doesn't respond, and Bill's eyes narrow just slightly. It draws attention to how bloodshot they are, and Slade's pretty sure he'll think about that blue and red contrast for the rest of his life. 

"Slade Joesph Wilson don't you dare ignore me," Bill says sharply. "You promise me, right here right now that you're not going to try and spend the rest of whatever time you have alone. Don't shut the world out Slade, I wont go to my grave knowing that I'm just taking you with me." 

Slade sighs, long and sharply and his shoulders drop. He suddenly feels exhausted, and all he wants to do is scream. 

"I promise," he says. "I'll find someone. A group, maybe. I wont try and go it alone." 

"Good." Bill suddenly slides down the front of the car and comes to a stop when he's sitting on the ground. "Besides if you show up on whatever lies beyond before I have a chance to preemptively ruin your reputation over there I'm going to be pissed."

Slade's not sure what to say again, and that silence comes back. He watches as Bill's breathing becomes more ragged and blood trickles from one of his ears. Finally Bill looks up and nods his head in the direction they'd been headed in. 

"Go," he says. 

"No," Slade says. 

"Come on, man." Bill closes his eyes for a moment, blinking slowly. "You've been riding me for weeks now, I'm gonna just...sit here and take a break. You keep going." 

Slade's sword slides out of the sheath on his back with an audible metal-on-metal scraping sound. Bill shakes his head, holding up his good hand in a 'stop' motion. 

"No," he says. "I wont ask you to clean up my mess and my mistake." 

Slade softens just then, kneeling down in front of Bill and placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. He tilts his a head a little to catch his eyes and smiles genuinely. 

"It's a good thing you didn't ask me, then," Slade says. It's bad enough that he's not in a position to give Bill any kind of a proper funeral, but he'll be damned if he's going to leave him to turn. Dead men should stay dead, and after some of the things they've been through together, Bill deserves all the rest that's coming to him. 

Bill touches Slade's wrist with his good hand and tries to return the smile. One last moment of clarity and sincerity, really it's more than anyone could hope to get these days. 

"Thank you, old friend," he says. "I'm afraid I won't be able to repay you for this favor." 

There's another moment of silence between them as Slade tries to gather his thoughts. He knows time is ticking down, but he doesn't want to fumble over his words. 

"William Wintergreen," he says. "It was an honor and a joy to call you my friend and my brother. This world is going to be a lot less colorful without you in it." 

In the end, Slade's words fall on empty ears. Bill's brain has been slowly shutting down this entire time, and the fact that he was able to be lucid and talking for this long is pretty amazing. It seems fitting though, really. The man rarely does anything in a way that isn't absolutely stunning. 

Slade stands back up and adjusts the blade in his hand, watching the slow heave of Bill's chest. He's not quite gone yet, but it's not going to be much longer. He's going to have to get it over with, and he knows logically that this is a mercy, really. Ending his friends suffering and preventing him from coming back. It's a show of respect if nothing else. 

That doesn't stop it from feeling wrong. It doesn't stop the sick feeling Slade gets when his blade severs muscles and tendons with a frightening ease he's never noticed before. It's not easy to separate a man's head from his shoulders, but in that moment it seems so simple to do. Effortless, almost. 

He turns away quickly, turning his back and wishing he could shut out the sound of Bill's body sliding sideways and hitting the ground. The sound of veins pumping blood onto the asphalt. The sound of zombies moaning from somewhere unseen beyond the trees. He just stands there for a long time, eyes closed and fist gripped around the hilt of the sword until he's shaking.

When he finally opens his eyes, he could swear everything around him seems desaturated and murky. It takes an obscene amount of effort to move forward, but once he does he doesn't stop. He shifts his focus to another task and doesn't stop to think about anything until he finds himself in an empty cabin staring into the roaring fireplace. 

The day seems to finally crash down around him, and he's suddenly exhausted to the point of madness. 

All he does is scream.


End file.
